The Snake and the Lioness
by sweetwordsofwisdom166
Summary: A series of unrelated Draco and Hermione drabbles and short stories.
1. Breathtaking

She looks beautiful.

No, she's always beautiful.

Now she's simply breathtaking.

The second he sees her, everything else fades out and she's all that he can focus on. Her normally bushy frizz—the tangles that always seemed to be alight with electricity—were replaced by shiny waves that were tied in intricate knots. She was wearing simple, yet extremely flattering and expensive-looking, periwinkle robes that highlighted her flawless porcelain skin—skin that he was desperate to touch and caress with his large, calloused hands. Her plump lips were as pink and perfect as ever, curled into a coy smile, and his constant desire to attach his lips to hers increased tenfold. Her honey-colored eyes sparkled with wit and passion and, in Draco's opinion, no jewel or gem could ever compare.

She didn't look his way, but then again, why would she?

All of her attention was on her date. Draco felt physically ill as he watched the couple waltz around the Great Hall, one of Krum's hands grasping hers and the other settled on her waist. She was smiling sweetly at her dancing partner and Draco tried to resist the urge to march over and Avada Kedavra that bumbling Bulgarian oaf into oblivion.

He wished he gotten to her first. He wished he had found the courage a few days earlier. He wished that he wasn't a Malfoy. He wished that she would just look his way; a simple glance would suffice. He wished that she would realize how much he loved her. But more than anything, he wished she would love him back.

But no, he was stuck with Pansy, who was pawing at him desperately, batting her lashes and whispering suggestive things in his ears.

Pansy didn't look breathtaking. She didn't even look beautiful. Hell, he didn't think she was attractive in the slightest. But really, who would ever compare to _her_?


	2. The Final Battle

They see each other at the exact same time. Chocolate locks with mercury. He thinks she looks beautiful, even covered in dirt and sweat. She notices that he's changed, his skin sallow and his cheekbones sunken in. Her eyes ask him a single question. In return, his eyes are guarded. She takes a step towards him. He raises his wand. Her brow furrows and she feels dread wash over her.

She was so sure that he was honest. _Maybe his time with the Death Eaters has changed him_, she thinks. _Maybe he doesn't love you anymore_. Her heart breaks a little at this thought.

Suddenly, a bright, blinding light spills out of his wand and she knows this is the end. He's not the same boy she fell in love with. She closes her eyes and waits for the pain in her heart to end, but it doesn't. She stays still for a moment, not quite sure, but she cracks an eye and he's standing there, looking at her with those eyes.

She glances around and sees him, a Death Eater, on the ground a meter or so behind her. He doesn't move, but his eyes are wide with fear. She turns back to him and he's giving her a smirk, but it doesn't have its normal confidence. She can't help but wonder how much they've broken him and his spirit.

He doesn't waste time, running down the corridor. She opens her arms and she welcomes the familiar warmth of his body.

"I would never hurt you," he whispers, his voice raspy. "I love you, Hermione."

She can't help but laugh at her stupidity for doubting him. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds him tighter. She never wants to let him go. "I love you too," she says quietly.

They quickly disentangle, but their fingers are still intertwined as they run down the hallways, sending spells flying. He stops and she does too. They're facing _him_. His white-blond hair, so much like his son's, is matted and dirty and he too looks sickly like his son, but he still has an aura of arrogance and superiority that his kin now lacks. His cold eyes narrow in on their hands, locked together, and she feels the boy she loves tense next to her, his knuckles white as he grips his wand. He moves to stand in front of her, protective as always.

His father arches an eyebrow and walks towards them. She can't help but feel like prey being approached by a predator.

He's close now and he shoots her a dirty look that lets her know exactly what he thinks of her before turning to his son. "I hope you know what you're doing" is all he says.

His son nods. "I do."

"Good." Then he stalks off, his robes flowing after him as he carelessly sends stunning spells at anyone who approaches him.

She tugs on his arm and they continue walking. Everything has slowed down, but there are still little battles raging. Voldemort is gone, but his followers refuse to give up. They're fighting, but they're outnumbered and failing.

He suddenly pulls her into an empty, half-destroyed classroom and casts an anti-intruder jinx and a locking spell, just to be safe. He pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck.

She tries to protest. "We need to help."

"Please," he begs, his voice small and frail. "_Please_."

Her heart breaks then. He's not supposed to be like this—he's supposed to be strong and sure, not breakable like a porcelain cup.

She moves them so they're behind the teacher's desk and they sit there, hugging each other tightly, their limbs curled up together, wordlessly trading their pain and their fears with each other. She still holds her wand in an iron grip, but relaxes against him. He does the same. They're not sure how long they sit there, but they don't care because to them, all that matters is each other.

"Hermione," he says, breaking the silence. "Never leave me, please."

She kisses his forehead. "Don't be silly. I would never think of leaving you."

He smiles faintly and they lapse into silence again. He sits up finally, moving his arms away, only to have one hand cup her cheek and the other play idly with a curl of her hair. Slowly, he begins to kiss her collarbone, then her neck, moving his way up to her lips. She strokes his arm in response, keeping one hand firmly around his neck because she can't stand the thought of him moving away. He lightly pecks her lips and she sighs with content.

"Marry me."

He looks at her for a moment, his expression slightly shocked, before he gives her a grin that melts her heart and makes her think that maybe his spirit is still there, somewhere. "I thought Prince Charming was supposed to propose."

She grins back. "Prince Charming was taking too long," she responds. "So?" She runs her fingers through his ruffled blond hair affectionately and places a chaste kiss on his forehead.

"You're the only person I could ever spend the rest of my life with."

"Good."


	3. Petrified

The hospital wing was two floors above the Slytherin Common Room and on the other side of the castle. If he got caught by Filch or his nosy cat, he would get in trouble—even if he managed to escape detention, Father would hear about it and that would be so much worse than the Forbidden Forest. It was the middle of January and despite his fur-lined cloak and thick socks, the castle was still very cold. And he didn't even like her. In fact, he abhorred her!

So why was he sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to go see her?

He really didn't like to ponder of questions he couldn't answer. All he knew was that he _needed_ to see her.

He readjusted the clasp on his cloak and tightened his grip on his wand. He really couldn't do anything with it—he was only a second year, honestly—but having it near just gave him an indescribable sense of comfort. Peering out from behind a corner and seeing that the corridor was empty, he quietly padded to the large oak doors and slowly eased them open, cringing at each creak.

The hospital wing smelled unnaturally clean, like a mixture of lemons and Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover. Long beds with crisp white sheets lined the walls, some with curtains drawn around them and others completely empty. The tall, arched windows above the beds let in the silver moonlight that made the room glow ethereally.

Adjusting his eyes to darkness, he crossed the room quickly and quietly drew back the curtains of the first bed he passed. He flinched at seeing the frozen body of a Ravenclaw girl with long, curly blonde hair. He recalled a memory of her scolding Crabbe and Goyle for throwing their potions textbooks at a group of first year Hufflepuffs. He closed the curtains and moved along, thankful that the next bed he tried was in fact Granger's.

Her right arm was frozen as if she had been holding something up and her knees were bent at an awkward angle. Her bushy brown curls were sprawled out around her face and her brown eyes were wide and glassy. Her skin was a strange pale color, her chapped lips almost gray. It was strange to see her like this. This "girl" didn't look like the Granger he knew. Her frizzy hair wasn't sparking with its normal electricity; she wasn't spewing out facts; her nose wasn't buried in a book; she wasn't surrounded by her two bodyguards; she wasn't insulting him; she wasn't looking at him. She looked like an empty vessel, not the passionate and clever Gryffindor he knew and hated.

He resisted the urge to shiver as he moved towards her, still staying in the shadows, noticing with perverse interest that her eyes didn't blink or move at all. He stayed silent, not wanting her to know that he was there. Why was he there, anyways? It didn't matter—he was there. He hesitated before brushing a particularly irksome strand of hair out of her face. She didn't respond, but he didn't expect her to after all. She was paralyzed.

He felt his heart—was that his heart; did he even have a heart?—clench suddenly and something tickled his eyes. No, he was not about to cry over irritating little Muggle-born. No. He quickly pinched his own arm and scolded himself harshly before turning on his heel and silently stomping out of the hospital wing.

* * *

She was back. She was hugging Potter and Weasley. She was smiling and laughing. She looked vibrant and happy.

Draco tightened his grip on his silverware and viciously stabbed the hunk of roast beef on his plate. He would help but wonder why he wasn't lucky enough to be hugged by her?


End file.
